Je ne veux pas d'étrave
by Seastone Chair
Summary: I will not bow to you, Frenchman!" England's fall, rise Pirate!UK , and love. His past, present, and future. Beginning is Brutal!FrancexTeen!England. Prussia and Spain make their appearance. Future will have teen!America and so on. OFF OF HIATUS! In the process of a revamp!
1. Fealty

Title: I will not bow. (in French)

Hundred Years' War

Brutal!France; Pirate!England (later on); Teen!America (laterlaterlater on)

Alrighty guys, I'm bringing this thing back to life! I'm revamping it and changing it up. So those of you who have written reviews for the old material, I apologise, however the change really needed to be done. It was like a child wrote it (oh wait, I was a child when I wrote it).

WARNING WARNING WARNING: HINTING AT RAPE. I apologise. You may skip over that part if you want though, it is not important!

Anyways, please enjoy!

p.s. Yayo by Lana del Rey also Gods & Monsters by Lana del Rey

* * *

It had been such a long time since he last saw sunlight. Clouds covered the sun, making the Earth gloomy and grey. Or maybe that was ashes of his burning country that covered the sky. His beautiful country... his beautiful new country. The diversity of the people and the lush green grounds that covered the countryside.

Everything he had was being ripped apart.

It was heavy: all the armor that was weighing them both down. The clash of their swords shrieked in his ears as his arms worked on their own accord, for he could no longer control them. He hurt all over from the deep cuts and wounds that had gotten through the dented and worn armor. Green eyes glared up into harsh, cold, blue eyes. His breath was shaky and was being taken in through sharp gasps. His arm was shaking as it held the sword's handle, trying to hold off the enemies attack.

They had been fighting for longer than necessary. For them, it only felt like three days. For their people, it was a hundred years. They were in the third and final part of the war. The Lancastrian War where the English king, Henry V Lancaster, invaded Normandy. Arthur had protested as he had the first two times they had gone to war with France. He wasn't ready for it. His people weren't ready for it.

"Vous avez perdu, L'Angleterre." The icy voice of his enemy hissed.

"I do not speak your filthy language, France." England panted out, his legs growing even weaker from use. Francis pulled his weapon back quickly and dug the tip of the sword through England's foot. Arthur was too tired to react fast enough to block the cheap shot from France and let out a piercing scream from the sudden pain.

France was strong. He was strong with leaders such as Joan de Arc and La Hire leading his troops. Arthur felt his heart begin to pound hard enough to hurt and a voice whispered in the back of his mind, Battle of Castillon. And he knew this was it. Finally, the last battle of the war.

"Je n'aime pas me répéter." (I do not like to repeat myself.) France sent a punch to England's dirty face to silence him. Arthur tried to move, but his head pounded, his ears were ringing, and he could barely see straight. Francis knocked England's sword out of his hand. "I said; You have lost, England." The French country took a couple steps close to the losing country. "Tu es à moi. (You are mine.) Surrender to me."

"No! Ni wnaf bwa! (I will not bow!)" England involuntarily switched from his English language to his recently learned Welsh language. He grabbed at France's sword and yanked it out; sucking in air harshly as he felt blood gush out of his foot. Arthur lashed out; swinging the sword wildly at France. It managed to cut a jagged scar across the Frenchman's unprotected face. England let out a hysterical laugh as his strength left him and he collapsed to the ground, dropping the French sword.

Francis let out an angry howl as the blade cut his perfect face, slicing the skin in a disgusting horizontal wound from his left cheek to just below his right eye. "Je ne vais pas vous montrer la miséricorde vile créature. (I will not show mercy you vile creature.)" His voice was calm, but Arthur could hear the seething hate behind it. The weaker country was already disgraced as it was. He could no longer stand on his own two feet; he was on his hands and knees in front of the Frenchman. "Nous avons lutté pendant longtemps. Pas plus que vous pensiez à me combattre, je suis ton maître. (We have fought for a long time. I am your Master.)"

England knew that his people had not yet given up. He couldn't understand what his enemy was saying yet, and he was thankful for that. The moment that he could understand French and speak it was the moment that his people had lost the will to fight. "Ní bheidh mé go gcailleann tú Frenchman. (I will not lose to you Frenchman.)" England whispered in Irish. He had no use for another language. In his childhood he had gathered these other languages like Welsh and Irish. He didn't want to ruin them with the romantic language that Francis spoke.

A hard slap hit Arthur's cheek, causing him to whimper hang his head limply in front of France. "Ne parlent pas votre langue dégoûtante pour moi! (Do not speak your disgusting languages to me!) You will speak French!" Francis graced Arthur this last time by speaking English for the younger country. The boy was going to do what he said in a matter of time.

Francis stood above Arthur, staring down at his broken figure, breathing heavily. Arthur's arms shook as they tried to hold his body up off the dirty ground. "Please… No…" His voice was barely audible as his vocal cords were strained from brutal usage over these past days. France narrowed his blue eyes at England's plead. He moved to grab his sword off the ground. Nervously, Arthur watched out of the corner of his eye. Francis moved out of England's line of sight but in the matter of seconds, England could feel more weight being pressed down onto him. With that England's arms and legs gave out, causing him to dirty himself even more on the ground. The dirt and sand made his wounds hurt more as it coated his bloodied body.

France was straddling the boy's hips from behind. He wasn't going to do anything completely violating just yet, all he wanted to do was to let everyone else know that he claimed the boy. That the boy was his. He dug the tip of the blade into England's skin, causing him to gasp as it pierced the skin. In sloppy cursive the Frenchman wrote, "Fealty" into the back of the Englishman.

Arthur was too tired to writhe about or scream out as the blade dug roughly into his skin. He could feel the warm liquid of his blood run down his back from the inscribed word. "Non… (No…)" The younger country breathed out as the world went black around him.

xxx

"You have a new pet? That's not like you, Francis." A Spanish accented voice spoke. Spain stared with interest at France.

"I think it's pretty awesome. Francis certainly likes them young." Prussia chuckled in his own German accent.

"You're one to talk, Preuben." France purred. Gilbert gave the other two countries an innocent shrug. They all knew there was something going on between Prussia and the Holy Roman Empire.

"Hey, it's all for power." Prussia said in his defense. "You have to build up their trust to be able to break them down completely."

"I don't know, I think you can shatter them without going through the formalities." France replied with a smile.

Arthur watched the three friends chat at a round table in France's royal garden from a bush close by. His green eyes watched in absolute horror at how they spoke of destroying countries so calmly. They were monsters. What if he became a monster like that? No! He would never…

"He put up such a lovely fight against me…" France's voice cut through England's thoughts.

"I can see…" Prussia's cool and sadistic facial features softened for a moment as he reached across the table. France flinched as Gilbert's cold fingers touched the quickly healing scar that Arthur had inflicted.

"It was délicieux (delicious) to see him try to stand up against me." Francis flicked out his tongue against the tip of Gilbert's finger. A smirk flashed across those pale lips before Prussia pulled his hand away. "I doubt he'll give up easily when I begin to teach him some French manners."

"You're a dirty man!" Spain laughed out, throwing his head back.

"Well! If you ever need help with the boy, don't hesitate to call! I love a good hunt." Gilbert said happily.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He spun on his heels and ran back to France's house. He would make his escape soon enough. England could only run when his people were ready. Then, and only then, would he have enough power to hold off France. He ran up the stairs, two at a time, up the east tower were his room was. Arthur flung the door open and locked it behind him. As if that could keep out France. This is a French house. The monster had the key to every door.

Arthur flopped onto his bed and sighed, trying to push those words out of his head. French manners. A shiver went down his spine. France wouldn't do anything too bad to a teenager right?

He likes them young. A small voice whispered in his head. Green eyes widened as it finally made sense to him. Without much thought, England got off of his bed and walked to the only window in his room. It overlooked the garden that the trio was sitting in.

When he looked down, he could see France's blue eyes look up at him. Bright white teeth were smiling up at him. Arthur's heart began to pound in his chest. It took all his will to tear his eyes away. He didn't know why he was breathing heavily as he turned from the window. That man really did scare him… What was that Frenchman going to do to him?

England had been at France's house for a good week so far and no harm had come to him. He had been fed properly; he had been allowed to roam the house at his own free will. The two countries had hardly even spoken to each other. But with every passing glance that France sent to England, it made the hair on the back of Arthur's neck rise. The suspense was making him paranoid.

One positive thing about this house that had been a comfort to Arthur was that the servants pitied him. They were all so nice to him and tried to make him as happy as possible. But to be honest there was only thing that made him purely happy was when his elf friends came to visit him when he was alone in his room. They always brought some sort of gift or new game for him. Even when the vampires visited at night they tried to cheer him up. Arthur curled up under the sheets on his bed, praying to each god that his people believed in that they would shield him from whatever France had in store for him.

That night, Arthur skipped dinner with Francis. He stayed in his room huddled under the sheets, whispering things to a fairy that was visiting him at the time. He didn't hear the quiet knock on the door from a servant warning him to come down. He didn't hear the quiet footsteps on the stairs that led to his door. He didn't hear the door being unlocked. However, he did hear when the door was flung open as it hit the concrete tower wall behind it. England shot up in bed, eyes wide as he looked at the figure in the doorway.

Blonde hair hung in blue eyes as the Frenchman stared at Arthur. He ran his fingers through his hair so he would be able to see better. "I sincerely thought that you were more polite, L'Angleterre."

Confusion was written all over Arthur's face after Francis spoke. "What do yo-"

"Do not speak!" France cut Arthur off. He took a few steps in the room, turning to close the door and locking it. "All week you had been prompt and showed gentlemanly manners. Then today you do not show up at dinner without telling a soul." Arthur bit his tongue to stay quiet. Hopefully Francis wouldn't be cruel enough to punish him for such a small thing… But the English country didn't stay too hopeful.

"It's quite rude." Francis strode over to England's bed and sat down on the edge of it. Arthur tried to get as far away from the older country as possible on the tiny bed. A hot hand grabbed Arthur's ankle and pulled him down the bed to keep him from getting further away.

"No!" Arthur shouted, trying to pull away.

"I told you not to speak." Francis said calmly, reaching out to quickly slap England's face. The slap felt more like a punch as Arthur looked back up at France; fear in his eyes. "It is also very rude to eavesdrop on people's conversations as you did earlier today."

Oh god. England frantically tried to pull out of France's grip. That hand tightened around his ankle to the point of pain instead of letting go. It was the complete opposite reaction of what England wanted. The younger country could handle this pain though; it was nothing really. The dominating country leaned down over Arthur.

"As you heard earlier, I was planning on teaching you some French manners. I think now is a good time to start." That French voice purred so seductively in Arthur's ear.

"Ní hea! Níl sé! (No! It's not!)" Arthur yelled childishly in Irish. Of course, that just irritated the Frenchman even more.

To silence the aggravating boy, Francis roughly forced his lips onto the weak country. Hands tried to push Francis away, but it was to no avail. Arthur had no power against the extremely strong country. He didn't even have a fighting chance. It showed him just how much farther his people had to come for him to be able to escape.

France's hands slid up England's plain white button up shirt and began to quickly undo those buttons. "Dim! Stop! (No!)" He was already frantic; Welsh slipping through his mouth. Francis took that chance to slip his tongue into the Englishman's mouth. By then, the shirt was completely unbuttoned and opened up. France's lips had made it down to England's collarbone, where he nipped the skin between his teeth hard enough to break the skin. England flinched with each bite.

Francis was getting bored of Arthur trying to push him away, so he quickly slid out of his pants and used those to tie the boy's hands to the headboard. That solved two problems at once. Green eyes shot down to the bulge that was grinding against him. France's hot mouth was moving all around England's chest, pleasuring and causing pain.

"You should be thankful I'm not like Gilbert. I don't like to use whips…" The Frenchman breathed out against Arthur's stomach, causing Goosebumps to flare over his skin. England squeezed his eyes shut.

"Please… don't do this…" The teen country whispered softly. His voice was shaking as he tried a last resort to stop the Frenchman. "Plaire…"

"I'm afraid speaking French now won't save you, mon jouet. (my toy.)" Francis was undoing Arthur's pants now, yanking them down. Cool air made Arthur shiver violently. France gave England a maniac smile before he rolled the boy over, making Arthur's arms twist awkardly in their ties.

The screams for help echoed down the tower and through the house. A young maid covered her ears and sobbed as the yells tried to make the Frenchman stop; saying silly things about how if Francis stopped now, then he would forgive him. Or how he would pretend this would never happened. Anything to get away… Then finally one final shriek signaled to the house that it was over. One degrading and disgraceful scream: "Francis!"


	2. The Fall and Rise of Empires

_This story is severely running off the course of history and mixing it all up. Some of this stuff happened in the 600s and some happened in the 1800s... But I'm not trying to stay historically accurate... I'm writing for the thrill and entertainment for my readers. (:_

_A LOT happens in this chapter. If something is confusing in the beginning, it will be clarified later on. No worries, my friends. (:_

_H.R.E. was dissolved (hence the 'firefly' looking particles floating around) in 1800 by the country of whom the sword belongs to._

* * *

It sounded like those dogs were all around him as they chased him through this damned forest. He had to have run at least a mile by now as his lungs were burning with each breath he took. His legs were aching and there was a stitch in his side. How much longer could he keep this up? Arthur heard a German word suddenly echo through the forest. He couldn't understand what it meant, but the dogs certainly reacted to it. Their barks quieted down and it sounded like Gilbert had given up. Arthur slowed down his running just a bit, confused and gasping for breath.

A chilling laugh burst out next to his ear as he was suddenly tackled down to the ground. A dog let out a howl of victory as Arthur had a sudden sense of déjà vu. His face made contact with the ground as the pebbles and roots dug and ripped at his skin. Dirt caked in those fresh wounds, causing them to sting even more. It took a moment for Arthur's mind to catch up to what happened as he was suddenly turned over so he was lying on his back.

"We could have avoided that if you just stopped," The deep German voice spoke as he sat on Arthur's stomach; the extra weight made it harder for the Englishman to breath "Although, I will thank you for such an adrenaline rush. I haven't had an entertaining hunt in quite a while, and neither have my dogs." Arthur's green eyes finally focused on Gilbert. His bushy eyebrows furrowed as Prussia reached out to rub one of the German shepherd's ears. The dogs were stationed all around them, ready to attack when any sudden movement was made.

"I'm not here to take you back to Francis." Gilbert said after he was sure that the boy was listening. "Francis is a fool and will only hold you back. I want to make you an independent country once again."

Arthur was silent as the words were processing. What a strange thing for such a strong German empire to do. Gilbert was stronger than France and would not have the problems Francis had while holding Arthur captive. "Why?" The Englishman's voice was raspy from being so dry from his run. He really needed some water…

"As you heard in the garden so long ago, I'm only in this for the power." An icy smile spread across those pale lips, showing slightly pointed, but perfect white teeth. It made Arthur's blood run cold.

But England would do anything to rise to power again. Anything.

xxx

That's how Arthur found himself sitting in a ridiculously huge arm chair in the German's house. He was drinking cold water to soothe his throat, the chair positioned in front of a large fireplace. The fire crackled and popped violently. Arthur watched the fire closely, getting lost in its dancing flames. He was scared of what he got himself into by agreeing to let Gilbert help him, especially since the Holy Roman Empire had been staring at Arthur for a good ten minutes now. It was making England feel awkward as the boy stood across the room; his eyes locked onto the shaking, fragile body of the Englishman.

A blanket was dropped on Arthur as Gilbert walked by to sit in an armchair across from him.

"Beat it, kid." Gilbert said to the Holy Roman Empire. HRE huffed, crossed his arms, and did a dramatic turn on his heels to stomp away. The German's eye twitched as it took all his willpower to not go teach that spoiled brat some manners.

Arthur huddled under the blanket, cuddling in its warmth. It was a black wool blanket so, luckily, it warmed him up quickly.

"He's not used to being told what to do," Gilbert grumbled almost apologetically, flopping down in his chair, red eyes glued to the fire. A strangely comfortable silence fell between them. Both waited for the other to speak first as they stared at the fire. It was finally Prussia who spoke first as it seemed he was getting immensely bored with the quiet.

"As you grow… I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and—"

"I don't need you to protect me. I'm perfectly capable of holding my own." Arthur cut Gilbert off, stubbornly not wanting his help. England didn't want to be tied down by yet another country; he just wanted to build up his house once again.

"Really? I took you down pretty easily earlier." Gilbert's voice was monotone. He didn't like to be interrupted or refused for help. Even when he was generously offering, which was a rarity for him to do such a thing.

Arthur was quiet for a moment. Gilbert was right. It hadn't taken much to take down poor England. But if England accepted the protection and help from Prussia, then Arthur would be in debt and would owe Gilbert. As if he would let that happen.

"I don't want you or your land. I just want to be in alliance with you. We could dominate over all the other countries." Gilbert's tone of voice was slightly irritated at having to explain himself. Arthur rose an eyebrow at him. The man was crazy about power. That's all he really seemed to want.

"Whatever," The German grumbled after Arthur kept silent. "Go upstairs into my room and get whatever clothes you want." He motioned behind him with a flick of his hand and slouched in his seat. Arthur frowned at the albino but quickly left. He didn't really like being in the same room as Gilbert, it gave him goosebumps…

As Arthur climbed the stairs, the Holy Roman Empire flew down those same stairs right past England. Arthur heard Gilbert get scolded by the Holy Empire as he opened doors to try and find the German's bedroom.

Once found, he gasped at how huge the room was. It was decorated with warm colors and had a generally comfortable feeling. It really was a nice change from the rest of the cold house. Arthur flung open the closet door and his green eyes fell upon lots of fancy clothes.

They all had frill and feathers and were clothes of a noble.

He stared at it for a moment before delved right in.

xxx

It was taking the boy a long time just to pick out one outfit. Gilbert tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. He was already irritated from that spoiled brat Empire he was mooching off of, and Arthur was acting like a girl by taking hours to fix up.

How boring.

"Uhm…" The boy's voice came from behind him. Finally! Gilbert turned around, his red eyes sweeping up and down the boy's new outfit.

"You look like a pirate." Prussia said, nodding with approval.

xxx

England had broken away from France. He was free and seen as his own country once again. The country grew steadily stronger as it took over the seas; controlling what it wanted with its navy. No other country could compare and he was finally feared. Really, it was all with the help from a certain German man who had, unknowingly, taught Arthur a few lessons about character.

xxx

It had been at least a few months into staying with Gilbert, and Arthur finally got the nerve to explore the huge house. It wasn't like he was forced to stay indoors like he was at France's house, but he thought it would be safer for him to stay away from the world stage until his escape died down.

He was wandering aimlessly down one of the many hallways, hoping to God that he wouldn't get lost… again. That was embarrassing the first time, seeing how he had been lost for a couple days and the HRE had to find him. His emerald green eyes scanned the grey, cold stone walls; it looked the same as everything else.

Arthur reached out to lightly run his fingertips along the bumpy rock surface. One thing that was different about this hallway was that there were not numerous doors everywhere. There was just one. That was the one he was headed to now, at the end of the hallway.

The door, itself, was as elegant as everything else in this house. It was a large carved wooden door; the carvings telling a story of defeat and resurrection to power. Angels sang praise and the heavens opened to shower the powerful in glory. The closer Arthur got, the more his anticipation grew. A beautiful rosy smell was coming from the other side of the door as he placed his hand on the door handle. Taking a deep breath, he pulled with all of his might to open the door.

What he saw would forever be engraved into his brain; he would not see such beauty as this for years to come. The room was arched up to fit the dome-shaped ceiling, stone columns supporting the room served as a pathway to a beautiful stained glass window. Stain glass windows of roses lined the walls as if trying to prepare the observer for the main piece. Not only were there just windows of roses, rose plants grew up the walls from the stone ground.

It perplexed Arthur as to how they grew from stone, but he understood once he looked closer to the ground. Holes and cracks were made purposefully to lead to the earth so these roses could grow in the room. Red, white, and orange roses bloomed wildly, almost contrasting with the colors the stain glass was casting in the room.

Green eyes went back to the main window piece as Arthur walked closer to inspect it. It was exactly what the wooden door had carved on it. Only this was far greater and surpassed the door a millionfold. This gorgeous window made the boring stone walls light up with a warm feeling to it. This whole room made Arthur feel comfortable and at home.

He took a deep breath and backed up slowly to sit down in one of the pews lining the room.

"You seem to like my creation…" A deep voice echoed in the room. Arthur jumped and hastily turned in his seat to where the voice came from. Gilbert was in the pew across the walkway, kneeling down, looking like he was deep in prayer. Ah, so that's what this room was for…

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." Arthur said apologetically. He didn't think he would get caught exploring the house, but obviously he was sorely mistaken. Reluctantly, he got up to leave Gilbert out of respect. Come to think about it, Arthur really had no right to be doing such a thing without permission.

"You can stay. This was made for prayer and relaxation," Gilbert said quietly, cracking open one red eye to look sideways at Arthur. "And it sure looks like you need both."

Arthur slowly sat back down and let out a breath. This was a side of Gilbert that he had never seen. The Prussian he had observed for the past couple of months was abrasive, egoistic, and power-hungry.

Gilbert closed his eye once again and a comfortable silence fell over both of them. Arthur didn't pray, no, he wouldn't pray to the same God as Gilbert did, but he did relax. The German man was right, Arthur needed this relaxation more than he thought…

xxx

After it caught wind that Gilbert was helping the small country by housing him; Arthur promptly fled the house. He would not be taken back, nor did he want trouble to arise between Prussia and France. Not because of him. Arthur wanted to take care of France himself. He didn't want to take the chance that Gilbert might hurt the Frenchman permanently. No, Arthur wanted to cripple the bastard himself. He would cut Francis down until he begged for mercy.

A shudder of delight ran down Arthur's spine as the thought crept into his mind; sending images of long blonde hair yanking that Frenchman's head back as horribly delicious things were done to that smooth French skin… Arthur shook his head violently. No! He would never stoop down to that level! During his time with Gilbert, he had seen a brutal country death that would forever haunt his dreams…

xxx

_Arthur watched with wide eyes as he saw Gilbert walk through the kitchen wearing full body armor. The food he was chewing almost fell out of his mouth at the sudden sight of armed forces. "Wha—"_

_"Do you want to stay here or go with me, boy?" Gilbert asked, grabbing an apple and taking a large bite into it. His red eyes were vicious and his voice dripped with poison._

_"Where—?"_

_"Italy. I have business, and France would surely find you if you were here alone." The apple was already almost gone by the end of his sentence._

_"I'm going." Arthur said without hesitation, downing the rest of his food and quickly following the retreating German._

_It didn't take too long to go to travel to Italy, maybe a day or two. They didn't rest, nor were they accompanied by any soldiers like Arthur thought was going to happen. The two of them traveled alone on horseback, only stopping to trade out horses with whoever they came across when the ones they rode got exhausted._

_Arthur didn't have a chance to ask why they were going to Italy, but he knew it wasn't for anything good. The whole ride there, Gilbert had his hand resting on the hilt of a sword Arthur had never seen in the house before. It was appealing to the eye. The hilt of the sword and the sheath of the sword were decorated in blending artistic designs. Most of Gilbert's other swords didn't have a design, Gilbert used them for practicality, not looks._

_On the tip of the hilt, the initials of 'R.E.' were engraved in calligraphy. That puzzled Arthur the most… Who was R.E.? Did it stand for 'Roman Empire'? But why wouldn't it be H.R.E. then? Arthur pondered over the thought as they neared the Italian border._

_Without any sort of warning, Gilbert stopped his horse. It took a second for this to process in Arthur's mind before he pulled on the reins of his horse and came to a stop. He glanced back to see Gilbert already off his horse and quickly jumped off too. Prussia smacked his horse's rear and the horse took off running. Then, Prussia did the same to Arthur's horse. "Don't we need those…?" An icy glare made Arthur trail off._

_"I want you to fight with me." Was what Gilbert said as he scouted out the landscape as if he was looking for something… Or someone._

_"With what?" Arthur swallowed loudly. Fight? After what happened last time he fought? Gilbert looked at him sharply._

_"I expect you to find something to fight with. This is your training. You need to learn a little something under my guidance." Gilbert deadpanned. Arthur's heart was pounding in his chest. He didn't like where this was going. He didn't like this at all._

_"You make it sound like you're going away…" Arthur said quietly, looking at the ground. The Prussian said nothing but kept his eyes on the lookout. It was only a couple minutes before they both spotted something on the horizon. Gilbert's hand went immediately to his sword, and Arthur tensed up. Panic began to sink in as he frantically started to look around for something to use as a weapon._

_Weapon… weapon… weapon… That mantra was going through his head until he heard the steady clip clap of horseshoes. He spun around quickly and noticed he was alone. Gilbert was gone. Just like that; poof! Vanished._

_"Halt!" A young voice shouted out as the caravan nearly passed by England. That voice sounded familiar… And sure enough, the Holy Roman Empire hopped off one of the horses he was sharing with a bodyguard and walked up to Arthur. Just the person Arthur wanted to see at the moment. "I didn't think that I would have to help you find your way back outside of the house." The young boy was referring to the time Arthur got lost in Gilbert's house. That was low._

_"You…" The Englishman had to struggle for words. Those three bodyguards were slightly intimidating as they stared at him. He couldn't exactly chew out the brat. "You have a broom."_

_HRE looked taken aback for a moment at the obvious statement. "Yes? So?"_

_Something clicked in England's head. Weapon…_

_Arthur yanked the broom out of the unprepared younger boy's hands and lunged at the closest bodyguard. There was no way in hell that he was going to hit the child. He wasn't that messed up from his time with France. However, he was messed up enough to enjoy the feeling of that broom handle stabbing through the bodyguard's eye socket._

_The power of the attack forced the man off of his horse and onto the ground, where the broom handle sank even further in his head. Arthur stared with wide eyes as he easily took the man out. Then he realized that he shouldn't have hesitated in that instant. The other two guards were on him in a matter seconds._

_Through the confusion, Arthur managed to see Gilbert fall soundlessly out of a nearby tree and unsheathe his sword, going for the Holy Roman Empire. The young child saw this and bolted. The Englishman knew the Prussian man liked the thrill of the hunt, so he would probably drag that chase out more than it had to be._

_He was pulled back to his own problems when a blade sliced at the skin on his arm painfully. Arthur cried out and backed up. He tripped over the dead guard's body and fell on his rear. The first kill was pure instinct, but now that he had time to think about killing more people, it frightened him. Even with that fear holding him back, something overpowered it quickly._

_He had been in this position before; a man towering over him as he was on the ground, helpless._

_No. He wasn't helpless this time._

_Green eyes narrowed angrily as he reached for the dead man's waist. He drew the guard's sword out and stabbed down at guard number two's foot. Number two danced out of the way just in time and ran into guard number three. They stumbled around for a second, which gave England plenty of time to hoist himself up and fall into an offensive stance._

_It had been such a long time since he last held a sword, and he forgot about how good it felt in his hand. The sword's hilt fit so beautifully in his hand almost molding to the shape of his palm. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as he ran at both of the guards, determined to take them out no matter the cost._

xxx

England walked away from the miniature massacre he had just inflicted with a giddy smile on his face. He was off to find Gilbert and the Holy Roman Empire by following a trickling trail of blood on the dirty ground. Arthur, surprisingly, felt amazing. It felt almost like a heavy weight was lifted off of his soul, strangely enough.

The trail of blood began to get thicker and thicker until Arthur came upon a strange scene. Gilbert was standing on top of a large rock, sword buried deep in the stone, blood dripping along the cracks and into the crevasses of the rock. And yet, there was no body…

Gilbert was staring at the sky, a content look on his face. Arthur's eyes followed where Prussia was looking and saw what looked like a thousand little fireflies in the air.

"The angels came down and carried him away; while they damned he who murdered." Gilbert muttered quietly. Green eyes snapped back to look at the German. The albino jumped off the rock and strode up to the Englishman and said, with a blank expression. "Austria is damned for eternity. They will be split in two."

Arthur felt a chill roll down his spine. The words sounded almost like a prophecy; slightly eerie. Then, looking like he was on a mission, Gilbert turned on his heels and abruptly began to walk away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Arthur asked, confused.

"I'm going to find my brother."

xxx

Arthur brought a hand up to his face and sighed into his palm. Recently, disgusting thoughts like that and torturing that stupid Frenchman would claw its way into his mind making him lose focus. His body had healed itself from the damage that was done to it, but his mind would forever be scarred and tarnished. He sincerely hoped that it would not turn him into a cruel and vicious person.

Wind whipped through his blonde hair, the sting in his eyes as they dried up brought him back to reality. Blinking rapidly, his mind finally realized where he was once again. He was on one of his naval ships, standing on the bow of the ship. His long coat was fluttering in the wind as the ship sailed onward. Ever since Gilbert's house, Arthur wore nothing but his so-called 'Pirate' clothes. They were comfortable and, Arthur would admit, quite sexy on him. Oh god, he had spent too much time with Francis…

Arthur stuffed his hands in his black slacks pockets, turning away from the bow of the ship to walk to his Captain's quarters. His chest had goosebumps on it; his white v-neck frilly shirt wasn't very protective against the chilly wind… That was a slight downside to his clothes, but he could certainly ignore that. He had slightly more pressing matters.

The Queen of England, Elizabeth I, had ordered him to challenge Spain. The same Spain that was a part of Francis' inner circle. If Arthur could take down, or at least badly wound, the Spaniard then maybe he could strike some fear into the Frenchman's heartless soul. Arthur opened the door to his quarters and flung himself, very unprofessionally, down face first onto his cot. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest as he breathed heavily.

What if Spain took down England? What if Arthur was captured once again? His people had been free from any major threat for at least a couple hundred years now… But for Arthur, it felt more like years. Oh, how time was different for countries and people. The personified countries were nearly immortal, and time flew by on such a faster rate for them… Arthur would never let anyone use him as he had in the past. He was stronger; he was more fit.

A loud bang on the door caused Arthur to jump as he rolled off of his cot. After quickly fixing his clothes and smoothing out whatever wrinkles he had managed to get in such short time, he opened the door. An extremely handsome sailor was standing in front of him.

"We're here, sir. Your chariot awaits you." The sailor said; the last sentence was slightly playful. Arthur let out an inward sigh. Once again, because of Francis, Arthur would never be able to be attracted to a man in the same way again.

Arthur made his way to his 'chariot'.

xxx

A wicked grin was plastered on Arthur's face as seawater sprayed into his face. He was almost at Spanish land and his uneasiness was being washed away by his Lady Sea. She was so kind to soothe away his troubles.

The small paddle boat he was in was being steered and rowed to shore by two members of his crew. They were the only two that were willing enough to get near the Spanish shore.

His whole crew was absolutely frightened of the thought of going against the Spanish Armada. When he came back, he would have to report that to Queen Elizabeth. If they were scared, then surely more Englishmen would be. Fear will not help them overcome the enemy.

Before the boat bumped into the rocky shore England stood and leaped off into the shallow water. He was getting antsy just waiting in the damned boat. There was no need to tell the two men what to do once they got back on his ship; his first mate already had orders to head back to the country.

A small panic attack hit Arthur as his hands quickly felt for his guns. Both were holstered on each side of his waist, their weight noticeable against his hips. A quiet sigh escaped his lips. He knew the dagger in his boot was there since it poked him if he stepped in a strange way.

"Breathe, Arthur… Breathe…" The Sea seemed to be whispering to him as he trudged his way out of the shallow water. He did as it commanded, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Once out of the water, he quickly shook out his boots and made his way inland.

Arthur had a plan on how he was going to go about his attack. His plan was going to take a few days to play out, since he couldn't just walk up to the Spaniard's door and spout out that it was time to duel. No, he had to have a little bit more tact than that. But, as the young country was going over the plan in his head, a shout caught his attention.

"Bienvenido a España, Inglaterra! (Welcome to Spain, England!)" The 'r's in his name were rolled for a longer period of time than he would have liked as he whipped his head around to find the source of the voice. A certain Spanish man was standing off to his right, an amused smile on his lips as he leaned against his huge battle axe. Arthur would have cursed his distracted thoughts if he hadn't been so startled.

"You haven't grown a bit since the last time I saw you!" Antonio chirped happily. England's eye twitched slightly at his happy tone of voice.

"I see you've finally gotten a better sense of fashion since the last time I saw you." Arthur mocked. The brown haired man was wearing his own version of 'pirate' clothes.

Arthur's style was a new trend around the countries. Green eyes analyzed the elder man.

Antonio wore a long red coat, lined with gold trim. His black pants were tucked into high black boots. A fashionable white shirt was also tucked into those black pants. A red piece of cloth was tied around his waist in a very matador style. Antonio's hat matched Arthur's hat; only, Antonio's hat had more fluff on it.

"Oh yes~! Do you like? You seemed to have copied me~ I didn't know you liked me that much! We hardly ever talked." Antonio's voice was teasing and sarcastic. He was trying to get on the other countries nerve so he could say that he was attacked first. Then the war between them would be blamed all on the incompetence of the English Queen and her ability to rule her country.

That would have gotten to Arthur, except Arthur knew that he could pull off the look better and his clothes looked completely different. But, England didn't come to discuss fashion with the other country.

"I heard after the demise of the Holy Roman Empire, you snagged yourself a little country to fuck around with? One of the Italy's if I remember correctly…" Arthur trailed off, furrowing his brows as if he were deep in thought. Antonio's eyes darkened at the untrue words.

"You are incorrect, and I most certainly will not do what Austria did to the poor Holy Roman Empire to my dear Lovino." All the playfulness was gone from the Spaniards tone. England was about to come back with another comment when his thought process halted abruptly.

"Austria…?" Arthur asked, completely perplexed. What did Austria do to the HRE?

"Yes. The initials on the swords that murdered the poor boy was 'R.E.'; Roderich Edelstein." Antonio's voice had a slight edge to it. Arthur could see the Spaniard's hand clench and unclench around his axe's handle.

So that's why it looked so different than all of Gilbert's other swords… It was really Austria's sword… "…Huh." Arthur really didn't have the time of day to spend pondering the topic of who killed HRE. "So Lovino is his name? Is he a screamer?"

This time, Antonio's hand stayed clenched around the handle. Arthur didn't think it was such an absurd thing to ask, since he knew Francis had told Antonio and Gilbert all the embarrassing things that he did to England.

"Maldito hijo de puta." Antonio muttered the insulting curse words to himself; his jaw muscles tensing as he held back the other insults that wanted to escape his lips. "It doesn't matter what you say or do. My armada is already on its way to your pitiful island of a country."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. The Spanish armada had mobilized that quickly? "And that doesn't matter. England has the strongest Navy. You, do not. Yours and your little Italy's countries will be mine by the end of this war."

"So you have declared war upon Spain?" Antonio asked, playing dumb.

"Your entire armada is stationed outside my country! Of course I have!" Arthur's voice rose as he felt his people's panic rise. That panic turned into anger, which fueled the country's need to fight and be victorious. How great would it be to cripple such a huge country? It would show the world, once and for all, that England was not to be played with.

There was no hesitation in Arthur's actions as his hands went down to his hips. Both guns were pulled out at once and fired at the unprepared Spaniard.

Antonio's eyes widened and for a fraction of a second he froze. But his body was gripped by instinct and his hands grabbed at the battle axe to shield himself from the oncoming bullets.

The war had begun.

xxx

They had been at it for hours. By then, Arthur's guns ran out of bullets and he had to resort to using his dagger. Which, as Arthur learned the hard way, was not a very good weapon against a battle axe. But the young man had a backup weapon. During these last few grueling hours of skin being sliced open, bullet wounds, and major loss of blood, Arthur had brought the two of them to the area where the Holy Roman Empire had met his demise.

Arthur needed a better weapon, and he knew that the sword which Gilbert had forced through the rock was still there. No human could pull it out. Only a nation that was as strong as or stronger than Prussia was at the time.

Arthur dive rolled out of the way of the battle axe clumsily trying to take his head off. Both of the countries were so tired of fighting… Yet, Arthur bounded to his feet and forced his legs to carry him to that sword.

"You're a coward, Arthur!" Spain's voice sounded raspy as he shouted. He took a deep breath, his throat sore from being so dry, and slowly followed the boy.

Arthur ignored the stab to his pride and quickly climbed the rock to where the sword was implanted. Once on top, he wheezed heavily, almost doubling over. Everything hurt so bad. His wounds were oozing blood or were covered in dirt and dried blood. His muscles wanted to relax, and his whole body just wanted rest.

Wrapping his hands tightly around the handle, Arthur took a deep breath.

"Wait—!" A strange voice shouted as Arthur pulled roughly on the sword handle. It easily slid out of the stone. Arthur glanced over at the source of the voice and rose a thick eyebrow. A man, a villager it seemed, was standing below the rock, gaping.

"What?" Arthur asked. The man didn't answer for a bit. "Stop looking at me like that… It's weird." His green eyes left the man and scanned the area. Where had Spain gone? He was probably resting… Fighting for hours like they have been is only possible for countries.

Humans can normally fight for only a couple of minutes before they run out of energy… But countries had millions of human's energy flowing through them.

"You… pull that out," The man said, stating the obvious. "That hasn't been pulled out of the stone for ages!" The human's eyes sparkled at Arthur; further creeping the young country out. "How…?"

Arthur swallowed. This was getting annoying… it wasn't like he could answer such a question anyways… He looked down at the man again, "Look, you're going to have to leave here unless you want to get shredded to pieces by a crazy Spaniard."

The man looked confused for a minute until he heard loud cursing in Spanish. Both males looked at where the sound was coming from. Antonio was running slowly, and exhaustively, towards the two of them swinging his battle axe around. A strangled cry came from the human's throat as he turned quickly back to look at Arthur.

"What is your name?" He asked hurriedly.

"Arthur; now go!" England said, gripping the sword's hilt in both of his hands, eyes fixed upon the Spaniard. The man didn't wait another minute before taking off towards the nearby town.

"Mujerzuela! (Whore!)" Spain shouted. It was obvious that he could feel the surrender of his people around the corner. His body could no longer function properly, and his mouth was just spouting out horrible names at Arthur.

Arthur's green eyes narrowed as the Spaniard swung his axe at him. England jumped up and landed, feet first, on the flat edge of the blade. At that moment, they knew who the winner was and who the loser was. The younger of the two lunged forward from the axe blade and sunk his own blade through the Spaniard's stomach.

"Ah…" Antonio's mouth fell open as he felt that sharp blade make its way through the skin, muscle, and internal organs. Really, he couldn't feel any pain, but that was probably because there was just so much pain. His nerves sent too many signals to his brain that they just became a numbing feeling. Pale hands let go of the axe's handle as Arthur pushed harder, forcing the Spanish man to fall on his back.

"Call me a whore again, and the next cut will kill." Arthur growled out, twisting the blade a bit. Spain's body twitched a bit as he stared up at the sky with dull eyes.

"What a… honor." Antonio managed to choke out, blood running from his lip down his jaw line. "To be gutted by the same sword that God's holy country fell to…" Arthur blinked, taken aback for a minute. Then, he pushed himself off the ground and yanked the sword out of Antonio.

The Spanish country grimaced and tried to curl in on himself; blood gushing from the wound. Arthur knew that Antonio would heal eventually, and there was no need to stay around until then. Slowly, with what little energy he had left, Arthur drug himself to the town close-by using the sword like a walking stick.

The only thing that kept him moving was his people's celebration over their victory against the Spanish.

The town was… so close… Wheezing, he made his way into the town…

Where he was immediately ambushed by villagers. They all flocked towards him, shouting praise and congratulations to 'King Arthur'. England furrowed his brows in confusion. All he wanted was rest… not a crowd of people preventing him from his much needed sleep…

The mass of people began to spin before his eyes, his vision fading into black as his world came tumbling down.


End file.
